To Leap without Looking
by Maidenmothercrone
Summary: Sif takes her secret love for Thor a step too far... Thor / Sif


It is said that in the aftermath of battle, a man's mind is supremely focused. He knows with crystal clarity what is important to him, and how he wants his life to unfold thereafter. Lady Sif is no man, but this state of clarity holds none the less true for her. The Nine Realms are at peace, the enemies of good folk dead, and now she and the Warriors Three are drinking their fill and celebrating with their best and bravest.

Thor.

She sees him so clearly at that moment, as though no other exists. The light makes a glowing halo of his gold hair, and casts one side of his face into shadow – but even half in shade, he outshines every other man in the great hall.

He turns with a wide grin, aimed directly at her, and it transfixes her like a burning lance through her chest.

"You fought well today," he asserts, raising a brimming tankard.

Sif collects her wits, raises her own cup and clinks it against his. "To the Nine Realms!"

They drink, and Thor's eyes never leave hers. A slightly drunken smile is fixed on his face. Presently, he throws an arm around her shoulder and simultaneously smashes his cup on the floor. "Another!"

He turns to speak to her and their lips brush, accidentally at first, but then neither breaks away, raising amused whoops of approbation from their friends. At length, the ale exhausted, Sif leads Thor by the hand into the upper levels of the palace, the thunder god falling over his feet and ricocheting off walls. They careen, singing, into Sif's chambers, where they fall laughing into a pile of furs by the fire.

Thor's smile fades slightly, his gaze intent on her lips. Sif's heart is torn. She has wanted this for a long time, and she knows their friends and family would be delighted with the match; but she also knows that Thor loves another. It is only tonight's victory, and the surfeit of mead he has drunk that has led them to this circumstance. On the other hand, the way to Midgard -and the girl he loves - is lost, perhaps forever. Is it not better for him to let go now, before he is hurt further?

Her dilemma becomes irrelevant as Thor kisses her, his aim poor at first, but soon with increasing surety. There is a scramble, a race, a duel, to see who can remove the most clothes quickest. Thor wins, as Sif is momentarily stunned immobile by the sight of him. Even here in the dim firelight, Thor seems lit by the sun. His skin shines like burnished bronze, his hair is afire in the red-gold light, great muscles roll beneath the tawny skin like the thews of a young lion - and the heat! It radiates from him in waves and sears her like the heat of a new-born star.

Sif decides she can live with a small amount of guilt.

A few more tugs and all clothing is gone, and every inch of him is against every inch of her, moving, warming, igniting a pulsing heat in her that must be answered.

While he is somewhat uncoordinated on his elbows and knees, his aim is true, and Sif's head falls back as he enters her steadily. Her pulse is hammering, but soon her breathing slows and she slides her hand across his shoulder, following its path up so she can look into his face. They are in the eye of the storm now - that perfect moment of calm after the initial tumultuous squall but before the full force of nature's fury is unleashed. In that fragile moment, Sif looks at Thor with the eyes of a woman: hungry and eager. Thor returns her gaze with a look she has seen on his face a thousand times before - a friendly, brotherly smile.

This is wrong.

Sif sees that with sudden, blinding clarity, but is far too late to do anything about it. Thor is moving now, stirring up sensations deep within her core. Her body is a raw nerve, and his every tiny motion is soothing and assuaging her need.

Hs lips are on hers again. Stealing her breath, and she grips him tighter, pulling at his shoulders and buttocks, urging him not to stop.

When it comes, the climax carries the force of a lightning storm after weeks of tension and heat, and her body jolts uncontrollably as the current of pleasure surges through her.

Thor's motions slow, his warm lips dropping kisses at ear and throat,while his hair tickles her face.

Long hours later, Sif awakens in almost perfect darkness, sated but uneasy. A low voice in the pitch black echoes her very thoughts.

"Odin's beard, what have I done?"


End file.
